


Forged Affection

by Isolato



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Warcraft: Orcs & Humans, World of Warcraft
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Awkward Sex, Descriptions of Bioessentialism, Descriptions of Misogyny, Descriptions of Sexism, Dubious Consent, F/M, Inspired by Skyrim, Orcs, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Universe, Romance, Slow Burn, brief description of childbirth, dead mom, inspired by wow, look i like orcs, mentions of childbirth related death, nonconsensual marriage, orc marriage, probably, so i took inspiration from all of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isolato/pseuds/Isolato
Summary: An original story inspired by multiple types of Orcish lore surrounding Ghora, an Orcish woman finding herself in an arranged marriage with a man who isn't as bad as she thought he was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who checks out this story! I really like Orcs from both Elder Scrolls lore and also WoW's Lore, so I thought I'd grab a bit of both as inspiration and see what I could make. I also shamelessly love arranged marriage plots, so stay tuned!
> 
> Also;;; the tag 'rape / non-con' is related to a wedding night sex scene in which the participant, namely the woman, is dubiously consenting due to the nature of an arranged marriage. It is never explicitly said she doesn't consent; in fact, she does consent and enjoys it near the end, which lands this in dubcon territory.  
> Do with this information what you will.

Tall, towering mountains guarded the Orcish stronghold of Al-Dulpug, a longstanding and well respected Stronghold within the reaches of the land of Evenor. Those mountains contained many precious ores and minerals, which the Orcs of Al-Dulpug used to forge their weapons and armor. The mountains were a strong reminder of home, of the safety they provided for their people, and served as a tall reminder throughout the land of the prosperous stronghold.

The buildings of Al-Dulpug were sturdy and built to last, made with the finest of Orcish craftmanship. Huge, sturdy buildings made of wood and black stone were erected to house it's people. Roads were made of dirt. Smoke from blacksmith's forges and cooking fires constantly rose to the sky, giving the sky a consistent shade of grey. Giant stone walls protected the city, watchtowers on all corners. A layer of snow seemed to dust everything, and there was always a nip in the air.

In the center of it all, a giant feasting hall, a place for the entire city to gather and feast at the end of the day. A place to give honor to their gods, and give praise to their powerful leader, Dulpug himself.

Ghora, the firstborn daughter of Dulpug, had lived there her whole life. She had a tough, broad face, with pretty features hidden behind furrowed eyebrows and a permanent scowl. A few nicks and scars could be found on her forehead and cheeks from past spars, though dozens more littered her body beneath her armor. The armor she wore was both functional and fanciful; ebony metal carved, forged, and beaten into submission, crafted by her own mother as a gift. Fur lined the entirety of the armor, keeping her warm from the piercing cold, and the family's personal emblem was etched into the shoulder pads.

She was fond of this place, and though she tried her hardest not to grow too attached, the heart tends to grow fond of where one grows up. She knew these streets by heart; every vendor, every building, every rock and stone in the mine. She had climbed the mountain herself, she had found her first kill there. And yet, one day, she knew that she would leave this place forever.

As with Orc tradition, the daughters would be sent off to find husbands in the form of chieftans; some would be lucky enough to be the only wife of a man, however, many more would find themselves being the third or fourth wife to a prominent Orc Chief. Ghora's own father had three wives, and while Ghora was the first daughter to him, she certainly was not the only child. She had three more sisters and two brothers. The brothers would compete with themselves and, perhaps, one day challenge their father in fatal combat. Only one victor would present themselves; the winner being the Chief of the Tribe. The sisters would stay in the Tribe until they fetched a decent dowry, or serve the Tribe the rest of their days as a blacksmith, hunter, or warrior.

Ghora refused to be just another notch in a greedy Orc Chief's belt, and while she would be loyal to her family and bring them no shame, that didn't stop her from trying to prepare, and, perhaps, improve whatever situation she might find herself in. She took up this burden at a young age, as soon as she could understand her fate. She trained harder in everything she could get her hands on. Ghora relentlessly trained in blacksmithing, spent hours dueling with her brothers, and honed herself physically in the mines. While she couldn't do it all, she was prepared. Prepared to prove herself physically to her future husband. She was determined not to be the meek sidearm to whatever leader she went to; no, when she found herself wed to another, she would make sure it was as equal as she could get it.

These dreams were carefully stored away in her mind. Any display of independence was not greeted well by her father or her mother. She was taught to be strong, yes, but to obey the word of her male counterparts. There was no talking back to her father, and, in some cases, she wasn't deemed fit to fight with her brothers, either. However, her older brother, a handsome and kind Orc named Yadrul, would help her train at night. They both believed Orcs were equal, and that a woman's arm could be just as strong as a man's. Ghora had a special bond with Yadrul, and while she knew that the best and strongest Orc would win one day, she silently prayed to Malacath that he would be the family's victor.

As winter started to give way to melting spring, relations with the southern strongholds improved as more scouts were able to make the trip all the way up to Al-Dulpug. Each scout that came and went sent flickers of anxiety through Ghora. Which one would come baring news of a new Chief seeking a bride? One of them was surely bound to have both the needs and the means of having her as his bride, and when that day came, her life would change quickly, for better or worse.

The war-happy nation of Aglapia was prospering from what Ghora could gather from dinner conversations. As per ever, they were raiding neighboring weak nations, like the human settlements River-rock and Pinewall. The secluded Tennirah saw the birth of the first set of twins the strongholds had seen in many moons. A boy and a girl. Ghora had to wonder how awful it must have been for the mother to have to put up with birthing two children. She could hardly stomach the thought of one. While necessary, procreation wasn't exactly the most appealing thing on the table. That was getting sidetracked, however.  
"Old Krogar's going to kick the bucket in a few years, I'd wager." Dulpug was going on, talking to Yadrul and Nagong, her older brothers.  
"Wonder who his successor is going to be." Yadrul added to the conversation, taking a big bite out of a turkey leg soon after.  
"He only has one son." Nagong pointed out.  
"I'm sure his son will take up the Tribe." Dulpug added, finalizing the conversation's point there.  
"He'll have to do it soon if he wants to give his father an honorable death." Yadrul added.  
"Won't be long, now." Dulug responded in kind, casting his gaze over Ghora for a moment. She felt his gaze upon her like pinpricks, and she returned it steadily.  
"We'll see how things go." Dulug finally settled on that, and the conversation was over at that.

  
It was a cool spring day when Chief Krogar's tribe came to visit. Ghora was working the forge at the time, working on a new blade that she would take for a hunt later in the week. However, a horn sounded from one of the watchtowers; a friendly Orc was being let in. The Orcish woman moved to peer down the road at who was coming; she had only to look down a hill to see that it was a band of Orcs. They certainly weren't from the tribe; they were dressed in almost exclusively furs, with some shiny steel armor protecting them over it.

A visiting Tribe, it would seem. Ghora knew that she would be greeting the party personally behind her brothers and father. She ran back to the family longhouse, in time for her father to step out, Nagong and Yadrul in tow.

"Many greetings, Tribe-kin of Krogar." Dulpug greeted the party, approaching them calmly.

"And good greetings to you, Tribe Chief Dulpug!" The party leader greeted him respectfully. The Orc speaking to Ghora's father was young, no older than 25 from first glance, but had a weathered face. Most of his hair was shaved away, leaving a single strip of black hair that was cut short. He had a square jaw, and many scars lining his weathered face. Like many orcs, he had small, light green eyes, and simple smears of black paint down his face. He was solidly built, and wearing the most ornate of the party; the rest looked to be wearing simple attire in comparison.

"You must be Rogok, Krogar's eldest." Dulpug responded to him in kind, getting down to business. "I'm assuming there is a reason you are coming in his stead?"

"Yes, I have slain him in rightful combat, and seek to strengthen existing relations with the Tribes my father knows." Rogok responded calmly, glancing over at the other Orcs that had joined Dulpug.

"May Malacath honor you." Dulpug responded in kind. "Clan Dulpug will respect your position as the new chief."

"Many thanks." Rogok responded, giving him a nod. His eyes fell upon Ghora, and she met his gaze in kind, despite the jolt of electricity running through her. A new chief meant he would soon be scouring the lands for a wife, trying to find ways to scatter his progeny across the land, and another trophy at his side. How wonderful.

Though, to be fair, Ghora would be quite the catch, she assumed. She was strong, skilled, and attractive. Her father was that of a powerful line, and she had strong blood pumping through her veins.

"Shall we go to the dining hall for further talk?" Dulpug inquired, catching Rogok's attention once more. The Orc nodded.

"Yes, that sounds like a plan." Rogok responded in kind. The men led the way, with Ghora, her sisters, and younger brothers in pursuit.

Her father's wives had food already prepared, bread on the table with simple soup being poiured into bowls. Ghora wondered how they could stand being basic slaves to their husband. These women were strong, battle-hardened warriors, and there they were waiting on her father hand and foot. How could they subject themselves to such a meager existence?

Ghora took a seat, thanking her father's second wife, Agrha, as she poured her a bowl of soup, and glanced over at her father, who was talking with Rogok at the head of the table.

"Are you looking for a wife?" Dulpug inquired, the bowl of soup in his hand as he was preparing to take a drink of it.

"I am...assessing my options." Rogok said carefully. "I'm looking for the strongest blooded wives to take."

"You're in the right hall for that, then, Chief-brother." Dulpug responded with a hearty laugh. "Al-Dulpug is home to the finest of Orcish women, cut from my own cloth. Do any of my daughters catch your eye?"

Ghora bit off a piece of bread, giving Rogok a bit of a side-eye. Perhaps, if she looked just mean enough, he would go for a much more submissive sibling. Her sister, Dulim, was both fair and polite, and would make an excellent wife.

"Your daughter there's got a strong look to her." Rogok responded, making a motion to Ghora with his hand. She swallowed the bread thickly, the hard crust scratching against her throat. She raised her head slightly, giving him a narrowed-eyed look.

"Ah, my oldest, Ghora." Dulpug responded with a hearty laugh. "You won't find a finer wife than she. Whether she is your forge-wife or your hunts-wife, she will surely be a boon to your Tribe."

Ghora didn't appreciate being talked about like a simple commodity, but she kept her mouth shut for the sake of her father. At the end of the day, she wished to bring her Tribe honor and glory, and disrespecting either Chief would be an insult to the family name more than anything else.

"I want all of my wives to be worth their mettle." Rogok responded calmly. "We can talk dowrys later, perhaps when the women are out of the room?" He suggested.

"That would be best. Women get far too emotional."

Ghora bit her tongue, turning to her soup and drinking it silently. Bite your tongue, do not talk back. A handsome dowry or perhaps a trade would be a fine prize in return for her hand in marriage. Malacath knows the tribe could use it. They were running especially low on livestock, after a harsh winter wiped out most of their brooding mothers.

After the simple dinner, Ghora retired to her chambers, taking a long sigh.

"How lucky, Ghora! You might be able to marry into the south!"

"I hear Al-Krogar has such pretty plains! And horses."

Ghora's half-sisters, Dulim and Ushut, rushed into the room after her, chattering excitedly. Ghora gave them both a grave nod.

"Yes, that's well and good, sisters. It would bring the Tribe much honor." Ghora responded. It would be best to keep her internal thoughts to herself. Better for her sisters to think she was excited rather than dreading the day. In truth, she planned on being much more of a hellion to her potential Chief husband /after/ the marriage was finalized.

"I wonder if we'll ever get horses up in these mountains." Ushut responded. "It would be a thrilling feeling, riding into battle on horseback."

"Like the wimpish human cavalries?" Ghora respondded with a raised eyebrow. "Orc women fight on their own two feet; they need not four more to carry them."

"It still would be fun." Ushut responded, rolling her eyes.

"I look forward to the day of being a Chief's wife some day." Dulim added dreamily. "Seeing new places, hopefully warmer places, having children... maybe even being a wise-woman someday!"

"Perhaps. Keep dreaming, Dulim. Malacath knows you're pretty enough for it." Ghora gave her a kind smile, turning away to go through the chest at the end of her bed. It was a collection of things she was hoping to take with her, one day, and she supposed that she ought to gather them up, just in case.

A feather, cut from the first bird she had shot with a bow. It had been a hawk, as she had recalled, and the resulting feast was one of the happiest days of her life. She tucked it into the weaving of her underarmor.

A necklace, a silver chain with a pretty blue stone clasped onto it. Something that her mother had worn, and it had been handed off to her when she had passed. She draped that around her neck, slipping it underneath her armor.

Finally, a book. A diary recollecting what life was like outside of the strongholds, written by her mother in her younger days. Considered a forbidden book by most, it was something that she held onto dearly. The women outside the walls were much more independent...but also lived very dull lives. They certainly did not lead very faith-led lives, and not all held honor, either. Then again, neither did Orcs. Funny, how that worked. One could live their whole lives inside the walls and not even consider another way of life.

"Ghora!" Her father was calling for her. She tucked the book away in one of her pouches, quickly shutting the chest and straightening up. She had a coming feeling of dread, however, she swallowed it down and walked out into the main hall.

"A deal has been made. Ghora, you will be wed to Rogok." Dulpug informed his daughter, looking quite pleased with whatever dowry he had secured.

Ghora swallowed thickly, clenching her jaw and glancing over at Rogok. So, this would be her future husband? She would be sent off to the southern fields, to spend the rest of her days with this Orc? She supposed it could be worse. He could be old, lame, or awful. Still, having known this day was coming soon, she felt, nervous.

"It would bring me great honor to be a good wife." She found herself saying, anyway. It was a line she had rehearsed a thousand times. Anything to please her father. "What dowry has my hand secured for my father's Tribe?"

"A thousand gold, and regular livestock imports from Al-Rogok."

It was....admittedly a high price. Ghora was impressed. Her new husband would have to be affluent to offer that for just a single wife. Still, she could hunt, forge, and was a good face to look at. She deserved to fetch a high price.

"A fine price." Ghora remarked.

"Of course it is." Dulpug. "I would accept nothing less."

"We will head out tomorrow, and have a fine celebration in the stronghold." Rogok promised, giving her a warm nod. She gave him a curt nod in response.

"I look forward to it." She responded, albeit a bit coldly.

"As do I." Rogok remarked, giving her one final nod.

"I will show you to where you and your party may be staying." Dulpug ushered Rogok towards the door, glancing towards Ghora. "You should be preparing for the journey, Ghora." He added.

"Yes, father." Ghora swallowed, giving him a nod and turning to go to her room. There was plenty to think about, and plenty to do, especially in preparation for her upcoming wedding. 


	2. A Long Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghora sets out for the journey back to her new home with her husband-to-be, Rogok. She isn't pleased with how things are going, but her husband-to-be isn't as awful as she thought he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I haven't updated this in nearly seven months and I just wanna say, thank you for the support and hits this has gotten. I started this as a little indulgent project and I haven't worked on this in ages, however, I still appreciate the support. This big chapter should hopefully make up for my absense <3

Orcs weren't terribly fussy when it came to marriages. Some elves and humans had very elaborate things that they had to do in order to consider the bride-to-be 'acceptable' for her wedding day, but there was only the basics to cover when you were an Orc. Keep yourself clean, presentable, and look better than you usually do on your wedding day. With that in mind, Ghora wasn't going to be having her wedding for a few days, so she spared those pleasantries. She did, however, take liberty of a proper bath before she would have to bathe somewhere strange and new.

With all of that to consider, Ghora was...nervous. She was doing her best to manage it, after all, she could hold her own. However, today she would be leaving her home for good.  
She had packed all of her comforts in a satchel that she would carry on her back. Clothing, her favorite daggers, reading material, things like that. A waterskin for traveling, a hunting knife, a few spare arrows. Things to help them survive out in the wilderness.

She wondered what kind of man Rogok was, and what type of husband and Chief he would be. Ghora knew little to nothing about this man, though she would take the time leading up to their marriage to figure out just how much she should be dreading actual married life. Besides that little tie in, she would be able to see much of the outside world on her journey to her new Stronghold; that was an exciting factor, and a silver lining that she was reminding herself of.

She wondered what her mother's life was like; what Tribe she must have come from before she came here with Dulpug. Ghora liked to think she came from a Stronghold not too far from a city, though she wasn't exactly sure. It was nice to fantasize about her mother being from sweet, far-off Southern Stronghold where the air was warm and life was easy for her. Living here would have been a significant downgrade in terms of temperature quality. Though, there were many things about her mountain home to love.

Ghora couldn't sit and think on everything forever. It was just beginning to get light out, and she would be heading out soon. She sighed, got up, and headed out into the kitchen, to greet her father's wives and bid them farewell.

Shara and Agrha were up early. Agrha was setting the breakfast table, and Shara was tending to the stew that was simmering in the pot. Ghora cleared her throat and gave them a smile.

"Thank you, for the many meals you made that kept me warm through bitter winters." She said, albeit a bit awkwardly so. It was hard, as an Orc, to even begin to express your own feelings. 

"The daughter of Dulpug is our daughter." Agrha responded, setting down a plate and moving over to her, setting a hand on her back. "And a fine daughter you have become."

"We wish you nothing but happiness with your new husband." Shara added, giving her a smile from her stirring of the pot. Ghora gave them a smile, heat rising to her weathered cheeks. She certainly wasn't expecting, well...*that* level of sappiness from them.

"Many thanks." Ghora responded quickly, huffing.

"Here, have some bread before you go." Agrha quickly pushed a small bit into Ghora's palm. She hesitated, but then nodded.

"Thank you." She told Agrha.

"I was too nervous to eat the morning before my wedding. Make sure you get something in you before your long trek!" Agrha advised, waving a wooden spoon around. Ghora let out a soft laugh.

"Of course. I will make sure to eat plenty of food before my long journey." She promised.

 

The breakfast the family had with their guests was short, but eventful. There was plenty of chatter around the table about the upcoming wedding, and about the future in store for Rogok and his future wife. Ghora would bring plenty to tribe Al-Rogok, she was sure. She just wondered what it had to offer for her. 

Ghora forced herself to stomach some early morning soup, the food already starting to turn in her stomach. She was nervous, but, she knew those nerves would fade away as soon as the trek began. Perhaps, she reasoned, she would be less nervous when she wasn't in the eye of her father. She could be more of herself. Or, perhaps, she would have to keep it hidden for a while longer. 

After their breakfast, final arrangements and shaking of hands were made, and Ghora was handed off to Rogok, metaphorically and physically. She was his wife, now, in the eyes of her father, and, once they had made it back to his Tribe, they would be officially husband and wife. She regarded him calmly, giving him a nod.

"Lead the way out of the city... my Chief." He was Ghora's chief now, no longer was it her father. It was weird, and certainly foreign, to say that without it being directed towards her father. But it would be for the best. She kept her stride confident, walking with her husband towards the gates of the city, and gave her father one last look before she went.

"Bring this Tribe pride." Dulpug asked, giving her a prideful look. She gave him a deep nod.

"Of course, father. I will bring this Tribe and your name honor and pride." She responded in kind, turning back to Rogok.

"Where to?"

The Orc turned to regard her as the gates of her home shut behind her. The cold wind of the mountain hit her and sent a shiver down her spine. Ghora looked back up at the mountain, and her home city, one last time. She would never return there. Not for holidays, nor celebrations, nor even friendliness missions. That had been her last day there, and...it hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Do you know how to ride a horse?"

Rogok's voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she turned to face him, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I've never ridden a horse before, though I can't imagine it can't be that hard." She reasoned. She refused to show any weakness to this Orc man. She wouldn't let him get the upper hand over something as simple as riding a horse.

"If you can sit and keep your balance, you will do just fine." Rogok responded. There was, perhaps, a hint of humor in his voice, but if there was, she didn't quite catch it. She narrowed her eyes.

"The tiniest whelp can keep their balance. Point me to your horse and I will ride." There was a challenge in her voice as she looked at the majestic, muscled beasts in front of her. They were sturdily built with feathering on their hooves, and they patiently stood, awaiting their master's orders.

"Take your pick, wife." Rogok responded, motioning to the pair of steeds waiting for them. Heat rose to Ghora's cheeks almost immediately and she glanced at the both of them, eventually moving towards the black one.

"This one will suit me fine." She responded, looking at the saddle and bridle with scrutinous eyes. She...didn't know how to get on.

"Good. Do you know how to get on?" Rogok asked, moving over. "I can help you on if the task is unknown to you."

She swallowed for a moment, and glanced back at him. "Just show me, and I will follow." 

"As you wish." Rogok put his arms up, backing off for a moment before climbing onto his own horse, using the stirrup in order to get himself in position. She grabbed the pommel of the saddle of her own horse, sticking her armored boot into the stirrup and hauling herself up, swinging her leg off to the side and sitting on it.

It was...different, but a much higher view of everything else. From this angle, she could look down at the mountain path she had traveled many times on hunts. Not far down there would be a forest, where elk, wolves, and foxes lived, ready to be hunted in the name of Malacath. Past that, she knew of a basic cobble path that the Empire had built long ago, that should hopefully help guide the Orcs through their path. Past that, she didn't know.

"There you go, you did it." Rogok let out a hearty laugh. The rest of his party would be footing it, she realized, while she got to ride on horseback with him. That was...surprisingly kind of him. Or, perhaps, his Tribe regarded women more highly? Either way, she took the reins to the horse as it was what he was doing, so it was probably the right thing to do.

"I did. You lead the way to..Al-Rogok." She responded. "Our new home."

"Yes, I'll lead the way." He nodded. He gave the reins a light flick, and the horse began walking down the hill. She mimicked, and the horse lurched forward, beginning to follow. She struggled for a moment, losing her balance, but regained it quickly, along with her composure, keeping her gaze upon Rogok. She had many questions, but not a single one was coming to her brain.

For the moment, she was content sitting the entire trip in silence. As they got to the base of the mountain trail, she looked up at the mountain one last time, admiring the smoke rising to the sky, the sturdy black walls jutting out of the landscape. Her home was beautiful, and she would hold it in her heart forever. She wondered what her new life would hold for her.

 

The pair sat in silence. For a while, it was comfortable, and, as it went on, it felt a bit more awkward. They had to have been traveling for at least half an hour, now, and the landscape was still frozen, with nothing to see but frosted grass, pines, and cobble roads. 

"Thank the Gods we are finally out of that mountain. The cold air is bad for the lungs." One of the Orcs traveling with Rogok broke the silence first, looking at one of his fellow Orcs, walking along as well.

"I miss the food of home that Lazgash makes. Her squash soup puts cabbage soup to shame."

Dhora clenched her jaw, fighting a growl as the two Orcs insulted her home. She doubted any food that Lazgash made would hold a candle to the cooking she was raised on. And if the air was so bad for the lungs, then why did their Chief take her as a bride?

"What is your favorite soup, Dhora?" Ragok inquired. "I have to admit the stew your mother made was quite good."

"They aren't my mothers. But they are quite good cooks. In the winter we make elk stew with potatoes and cabbage. It's quite good." Dhora remarked. At first, she was defensive, then a bit surprised at his question. However, she answered anyway. While she didn't consider herself an exemplary cook, she got it done without it being burnt or tasting awful. She didn't care to excel as a homemaker by any stretch of the definition.

"We have deer sometimes!" One of the men piped up. "It's quite good, you'll have to try it sometime!"

"Sometimes our traps catch a rabbit. The meat is sweet and good, and it's usually given to the Chief." Rogok responded. "If we catch some, you will have to try it."

"I haven't had rabbit before; does it compare to arctic hare?" Ghora inquired, glancing over at him. She was appreciating the break in silence.

"I don't know about hare, but most rabbit is lean with a bit of fat. Very good food, if you ask me." Rogok.

"And bird! Roasted over a spit is the best!" An Orc piped up in the back.

"I've had the pleasure of eating hawk before; it was my first kill as a young Orc." Ghora responded in kind, giving a nod to them.

"My first kill was a wolf." Rogok explained rather proudly. "Saved the Tribe sheep from it, too."

"Impressive." Ghora responded, raising an eyebrow.

"I have it's pelt as a cloak back at home." Rogok added rather fondly, a smile resting on his features. Ghora nodded.

"I have one of the hawk's feathers with me right now, actually."

"May it guide you where happiness lies." Rogok gave her a kind smile, and, she gave him a polite smile back.

"Thank you. May your wolf guide you in your hunt." Ghora responded in kind, relaxing a little on her perch on the horse. She was getting a bit stiff from the new ride, but, she wasn't going to complain over a few aches and pains. New activities led to new sores, and the like. 

"Which do you prefer?" Rogok inquired.

"What do you mean?"

"Hunting, or something else?" 

Ghora pondered her answer for a moment.

"I prefer testing my sword in battle, whether it be fighting off a hungry wolf or meeting blades with my enemies, the thrill of a worthy battle is unlike any other." She responded carefully, choosing her words well. She did not want to pin herself down to a measly activity, so, she hoped by choosing that, he would get the idea she wasn't just some Orc willing to lay down and cry.

Rogok waited a moment before answering, though he gave her a nod.

"A respectable answer as any. A woman who can hold her own in battle is invaluable indeed."

"You would be surprised at how many Orc women can hold their own in Battle." Ghora retorted, albeit with a bit more venom dripping on her tongue than she wished. Rogok gave her a concerned look for a moment, before shaking his head.

"I am certainly not doubting that. After all, they have to deal with Orcish men." He gave yet another slight tease, and she couldn't help but smile a bit at that.

"That is very true. Grown babies, the lot of them." Ghora responded, feeling a bit safer to express her feelings than before. In fact, there was a healthy touch of snark in her voice as she responded.

"I haven't met one that isn't that way." Rogok joined in the fun, letting out a hearty laugh. 

Ghora hated to admit it, but...that was nice. The playful banter, no scorn or scolding for disrespecting men... it was genuinely nice. She let a smile rest on her features for a good moment or two, glancing over at Rogok.

"Neither have I." She added to the conversation, turning her head to the road ahead.

Snow turned into green grass, and the winds began to grow warmer as the sun drifted to its peak in the sky. It was mid-day, and, as she realized this, her stomach growled loudly. It had been hours since they had eaten breakfast, and this trek was long. 

"Are you hungry?" Rogok inquired. Ghora glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"While I hunger, I do not wish to stop the train over the mewls of a crying stomach." She responded curtly.

"I have dried meats in my bag. We can eat and ride." Rogok responded in turn, giving her almost a bit of a solemn nod. She was surprised, but did her best not to show it.

"Mmm. If it will not interfere, then that would be appreciated." Ghora gave him a nod, her horse coming to a halt alongside his own. 

Rogok rummaged through his pack, pulling out a few strips of charred and dried meat. The perfect way to preserve meats. It would be salty, but good, Ghora expected. She reached out and took it from Rogok, taking a wild bite out of it. It took some ripping to properly get a piece, and not just the whole thing. It was good. It had some unknown spices on it that added to the otherwise burnt and salty taste.

"Will that satisfy you for a while longer?" Rogok inquired, pulling out a few pieces for himself. Ghora glanced over at him, chewing on the meat as she thought.

"Mmm. No, I would like to have another." Ghora answered him, popping the rest of the strip she had into her mouth and holding her hand out expectantly for another.

"How about two for the road?" Rogok offered, placing two more strips into her weathered hand. Her fingers closed around them. She was pleased, if not once again surprised by his...kindness. It was odd, especially in a man, let alone an Orc. Perhaps he was trying to sweeten her up before the big day. She wasn't going to trust him /that/ easily.

"That will be more than enough." She insisted, beginning work on her second one and looking back to the road ahead. "How many days will this trip take?" She inquired.

"By the end of sundown tomorrow, we should be home." Rogok responded calmly. "There is a river we will camp by tonight."

That was impressive. These horses must be fast. Ghora glanced back at the members of their party that had to foot it. They looked winded, but they were chowing down on their own meals. Fair enough.

"Shall we continue?" Rogok inquired, breaking Ghora out of any thoughts she might have started to work on.

"I suppose." Ghora answered gruffly, taking the reins once more and urging her horse forward.

 

By sundown, Ghora's stomach was clawing at her angrily. She knew how to quiet the whining of it, or at least, ignore it, but this was especially bad with nothing else to put her mind to. She couldn't ignore it by working the forge, nor hunting wolf, nor testing her blade in battle. There was only plains, the occasional rock, the mountains off in the distance, and so on. 

As expected, she could soon hear the trickling of water as trees grew dense around the path. Their road grew dark with the creeping dusk and the obstruction of the sun. Soon enough, the river was within view and there was a small clearing next to it in which they could set up camp. 

Rogok's men moved quickly ahead, beginning to set up a camp for the whole group to sleep in, and as they approached on horses Rogok slowed his horse. Ghora did likewise, and Rogok slid off of his steed, walking over to offer Ghora his hand. The tough Orc woman narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't wish to show him weakness. However, she would look far more foolish if she fell off the horse. 

"The assistance is appreciated." She said gruffly, taking his hand and sliding off of the horse with a hard thud. Fuck. The impact sent a shot of pain up her legs. Rogok let go of her hand and tried to give her a kind smile. However, Ghora just gave him a cold look and approached the camp. A few of the men had axes, and they began chopping down trees for firewood. She took up one of the axes, preparing to do just that, but Rogok carefully put his hand on her shoulder.

"There's no need for that." Rogok remarked coolly. Ghora glanced up at him with a cold look, shooting daggers at him mentally. Did he think she wasn't a capable woman? Before she could ask him, however, he was already answering the unspoken question. 

"My men have been told to take care of you to the best of their abilities. To work for them would be to insult them." Rogok insisted. A few of his men gave him and her a dirty look, but continued working anyway. Ghora met their glares with a cool glance before meeting Rogok's gaze.

"I am not some weak paleskin wife. I can take care of myself." She responded coldly, picking up the axe anyway. "And I can work alongside the men like any other." She stared at him, daring him to challenge her. Rogok looked at her for a few moments before giving in.

"Fine, fine." He replied, backing off from her. "I will get started on catching the food for the evening, then." 

It was at that comment that Ghora was reminded, once more, that she was absolutely starving. She gave Rogok a nod and headed for the trees, assisting the men with the chopping of the wood. With a swing of her axe, they felled a giant log, and together they prepared it for firewood. Soon enough they had a bundle of usable wood for a fire, and she helped them carry it to the fire. It was clear they weren't exactly comfortable with the idea of a woman helping them, but they didn't say anything of it, as it was their Chief's wife and they were in fact instructed to do as she wished.

A fire was soon built, and Ghora crouched next to it, warming herself up instinctually. The road so far had been long, and the warmth of a fire soothed her bones and comforted her soul, a bit. She missed her home already, though she didn't let it show too much. To also be fair to Rogok, riding on horseback had been far more pleasant than she had initially assumed it to be. Additionally, it was much more efficient than walking. However, she meant what she had said. She still believed a true Orc should rely on their own two legs, not an additional four of another Beast. With that being said, she could safely say that the ride was far from unpleasant, and the journey was made a bit bearable on the back of a lesser creature.

Rogok approached while she was lost in her thoughts. As he spoke up, Ghora was pulled from her thoughts to look up at him. In his hands was a small roughskin pouch, and a decent amount of fish was inside it. She had to wonder how he caught so many of those slippery little things so easily. Perhaps her future husband wasn't a complete moron after all. Then again, most Orcish men were always morons in one capacity or another.

"We will have a bountiful meal this evening." Rogok said proudly, setting the pouch on the ground and preparing the fish on some nearby sticks. He handed Ghora the largest one. "The largest one for my wife. May you never hunger." 

Ghora felt what was the beginnings of a blush burn on her cheeks as she took the stick, narrowing her eyes at him. If this was his way of trying to sweeten her up before the wedding night, it certainly wasn't working. She had many views about marriage, but she had at least saved herself for it, and nothing more. The last thing she planned on doing was having premarital flings out in the woods, especially with his men out there, and she'd be damned if he tried to make any moves on her. However, such a notion was still incredibly kind, and honeyed words like that were saved for the pale, hairless men of the rest of the land, certainly not an Orcish man at all. How had this man become Chief with such sweetened words like that?

"May your hunts never fail." She grumbled, putting the fish over the crackling fire and staring at that rather than her husband. As if she would stoop down to the lovely words of paleskins. Absolutely disgusting. It wasn't the way of Malacath, certainly. It wasn't the Orcish way. It just...wasn't what she was used to, at all.

Eventually the rest of Rogok's men came to join the both of them at the fire, grabbing sticks and fish and helping themselves. The meat cooked quickly, which was fortunate for Ghora. Ghora was damn near starving at this point. As the fish finally charred and cooked, she pulled it from the fire, tearing off a large chunk of the flesh with her tusked mouth and chewing on it, scales and all. If Malacath blessed you with such a luxury you ate every part of it you could. No questions asked, no whining, no fussing. The scales themselves had their own unique flavor anyway, one that the milk-drinking paleskins wouldn't ever appreciate. 

Rogok respected her wishes of not wanting to talk much, and he kept to himself as he cooked. Ghora ate silently, and when she was finished she relaxed near the fire, closing her eyes for a few moments. Today had been exhausting. She had hardly slept and ate very little, and tomorrow would be another full day that would end with her being homed into an entirely new Orcish camp, far away from her old home. She would become the bride of Rogok, her husband to be, and she would spend the rest of her days as the first wife of Al-Rogok. 

The thing about being the first wife of an Orcish chief, was that the wife would barely have a good life most of the time. This wife was mostly for ceremonial purposes. Very rarely would it be an Orcish chief took his first wife out of love, and judging by the fact that she hadn't met him before he took her as a bride, she was doubting that whole love thing. To be fair, Ghora hadn't put stock in love as a whole in the first place. It was a foolish concept coined by lesser Orcs dreaming of a better life. Life was harsh, that was just the ugly plain truth. It was often expected of the first wife to be the main baby maker, at least until the Chief found a younger, prettier Orc. Ghora had always regarded herself as a decent-looking Orcish woman, but there were always the farer among the Strongholds. Even her younger half-sisters would have prettier faces than she. And yet, it was Ghora that Rogok had chosen, not her sisters, to be his bride.

Ghora had always mentally detested the thought of having children. It was a necessary evil, of course, but she had seen far too many women lost to the pains of childbirth. Her mother was one such Orc. It was rumored, but never proven, that her mother had incredibly bad favor with Malacath, and was as such cursed with infertile loins. It was, rumored of course, that Ghora herself was a miracle child, only given as a reward to her father's own dedication to their lifestyle. However, her mother and her father had tried to conceive multiple times thereafter to no fruition. Ghora was supposed to be blessed with another sibling, however, her mother was lost in childbirth. After that, the concept of having children had left a bitter taste in Ghora's mouth, one she knew she'd have to face eventually. 

But that was neither here nor there. Here, she was staring into a bonfire endlessly, the flames searing light into her eyes and making them hurt.

"Are you alright, my wife?" 

Rogok's voice finally broke through her thoughts, and Ghora looked up at him, blinking a few times to come back down to the real world. When she gathered her bearings, Ghora gave Rogok a firm nod.

"I am fine. I was thinking about the trip tomorrow." She responded. "I wonder what your home looks like."

"Our home," He corrected her gently, giving her a calm look. "I would describe it to you, however, I would like to think you will enjoy it more in person."

"We will see. I'm sure it is a fine enough place to take up residence." Ghora responded quickly. She wasn't going to yield into accepting that she'd like the place that easily. She was sure it was wonderful; for him. However, she was used to ice and snow, and the place he lived in was warm and sunny. It had long, sloping plains and was supposed to be quite the farming area. Ghora wondered if they knew how to farm, or if they were just bullying local paleskin farmers. She didn't care one way or another.

"That we will. And I hope it is a fine enough place of residence for you, my wife." Rogok spoke kindly once more. Ghora sighed, audibly this time, and glanced back at the fire. She was getting pretty tired of his paleskin sweet talk. 

"If you are tired, perhaps we should get the bedrolls out for the night." Rogok offered. Ghora nodded. As much as she wanted to argue with him further, she was exhausted, and fighting him on that front was going to do nothing in the way of fixing her exhaustion. Giving in, just a little, she nodded to him.

"Yes. An early bed will mean an early rising time." Ghora responded, standing up and turning to the horses, which were donning a handful of bedrolls. Rogok moved in front of her quickly, grabbing them and unbuckling them from their hold, handing her one and grabbing his from the other side of the horse. Ghora tried not to glare. She was getting tired of him trying to do everything for her. She was a woman, not some useless child. Then again, many Orcish men saw that as both. She just had to hold her tongue until the wedding.

Rogok laid out his bedroll near the fire; not so near they would be breathing smoke all night, but close enough that they would at least be warm in the cool night air. Ghora supposed she would have to lay hers next to him; after all, tomorrow night, or the night after, she would be sharing a bed with him as well, among other things. Might as well get used to his presence now, right? She laid hers next to his. It was a modest bedroll, donning simple furs. This one in particular had a cow's hide on it. 

"You do not have to sleep so close to me if you do not feel comfortable." Rogok informed her. Ghora just huffed, embarrassed that she was called out so easily. 

"It's fine. I am not scared of sleeping near a man." She responded, bending down and taking off some of her armor. Just enough of it where she'd still be protected, but she wouldn't be entirely uncomfortable. Rogok seemed pleased with this action.

"Our men will watch over us while we sleep." He responded. "They are taking turns so they aren't ragged in the morning," He then added, glancing up at some of his men, who nodded. Some got into sleeping rolls, some of them stood near trees to keep watch. Ghora glanced around wearily before nodding, laying on her side facing Rogok. She was...exhausted, and that feeling was exacerbated as soon as her head touched the pillow.

"You seem tense, so I won't spend the night chatting with you." Rogok responded. "I will give you your space if you so desire it."

Ghora was still being surprised by this Orc, but she wasn't complaining. She nodded, getting comfortable on her bed roll.

"Thank you." She responded kindly, getting settled on her bed roll as well. Rogok turned over, facing away from her, and she was left by herself, with her own thoughts. In the end, her mind ended up drifting to home again, wishing she were there. The land here was much warmer already. Far too much unlike her homeland. She wondered how her mother liked it, if she were from the southern lands. She wondered what her mother would think of her now; would she be proud? She truly didn't know.

As Ghora finally slipped into the last clutches of sleep, her final thoughts before rest were that of her mother, fading glimpses of a beautiful woman in the corners of her consciousness. The crackling of the dying fire saw her off to sleep.


End file.
